


strong man (with gentle hands)

by starkesthour



Category: K-pop, The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, M/M, bbangmoon's breakfast routine basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkesthour/pseuds/starkesthour
Summary: Younghoon has the gentlest hands, really.





	strong man (with gentle hands)

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing bbangmoon. pretty short tho so you won't have to suffer for long
> 
> stream rollin' by brave girls

One of the first things Kevin does when Younghoon moves out of the dorms and moves in is buy a proper coffee machine. His old one is ancient and half-dead, and he's pretty sure that the brown sludge it produces is by now toxic. Younghoon has a set of alarms in his phone, and he's got Kevin to "wake" him properly when he misses all of them (which just results in both of them being more late), but the fact remains that he still dislikes mornings, and refuses to help Kevin with anything breakfast-related without caffeine in his system. Chanhee, when he first sees the gleaming metal glory of it, snickers and teases them about "nesting". Haknyeon _oohs_ and _aahs_ at it, poking at the buttons. The rest are just grateful they don't have to put up with the awful coffee served at the studio canteen when they can raid Younghoon and Kevin's kitchen.

Kevin doesn't tell them that without it, he and Younghoon will probably be eating coffee grounds straight from the tin.

After that, their shared morning routines start to take on a particular shape. The move wasn't anything spectacular; the revelation brought about by the amount of table and closet space Younghoon has taken and the fact that he already has his PC and console at the foot of Kevin's bed—their bed, now—six days out of seven already old news, and the subsequent panic and anxiety already glossed through. They just made it official, really. Still, it doesn't make Kevin less giddy or less anxious about it.

It's always taken him a bit of time to settle on a new routine, a new house, a new job, a new life. He's forced to reinvent himself each time—all the more better for it. Does he shower in the mornings? At night? Does he stop making sandwiches with pickles in them because Younghoon has a pickle allergy ("I don't have allergies, babe, I like them just fine.")? Does he cut back on loud music while cleaning? Is he funny? Quiet? Easy-going? An impossible asshole? After he left Vancouver, he liked to think of himself as set in stone. He was a son and a student, then a musician, an idol. Someone who couldn't easily flit and navigate the in-betweens. Now he thinks of himself as clay: adaptable, open, easily reshaped, easily molded.

And who has the most gentle, unyielding hands but Younghoon? 

With him, this is who Kevin's become: he wakes up to the first ray of sunlight creeping in from the blinds. He tosses on Younghoon's shirt from last night (the comfortable [one](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DkXQrWOUwAExoSE?format=jpg) with Justin Bieber's face on it) and running pants and heads out for a morning jog. On slow days, he even dares to stop by the nearby swimming pool Younghoon loves and spends an hour or two. It's a nice neighborhood, for all that Younghoon sometimes gets flighty and protective whenever they're walking at night, rows and rows of gorgeous brownstones packed together. They are almost always nice neighborhoods. Even when he loathes the smell sometimes, Kevin has to admit that this is what drew him to Yongsan.

After the jog, he hums a mindless pop song to himself in the shower. He makes the coffee that will lure Younghoon out and stares out of the windows at the streets. Bread goes into the toaster, eggs sizzle in the pan. He takes out the leftover _jjigae_ from last night. The kitchen is fairly huge, but he's managed to carve out this one space in their breakfast nook where he can let the rest of the city inside. Even when it's cold, he likes to crack the window open so that it doesn't get stifling, so that he can hear the car honks and the shouting people and remember that he's still here, with Younghoon tucked away snoring in the background, that he's still _alive_.

Most mornings, he'll find Younghoon wide awake in bed and tapping blearily at his phone, mind slow but not too slow for a lingering, syrupy kiss, or Kevin will find him shuffling into the kitchen, for the moment shameless in his half-nudity, ready to brave the world and join him with a tight embrace. Sometimes he'll find him asleep face-down on the pillow with his mouth open after a grueling recording session or a late dance rehearsal. It's adorable, is what it is, and Kevin thinks he will probably never tire of it. Kevin gets that Younghoon's a light sleeper most of the time, a side-effect of living in a dorm full of rowdy boys for years (a syndrome he himself never got), but if they're in between tours and comebacks, he tends towards restlessness or laziness or both.

And if Kevin's being honest, he gets restless, too. A slightly bad combination, but, as in everything else, they make do.

After he's finally had a cup, Younghoon is the precise opposite of a zombie, and he talks and talks and talks, whether it's about some new aquarium he wants to visit or the story of Juyeon almost being mauled into a kiss by a particularly intense fan. And Kevin will listen to him as he sips his coffee, the voice he so loves in one ear, the sounds of the city in the other.

(Younghoon has the gentlest hands, really.)


End file.
